


Shadows Fall

by inlovewithnight



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-25
Updated: 2006-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:37:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	Shadows Fall

The first time they fuck, it's because Archie needs it.

Shore leave from Justinian, cold and rainy as every day seemed to be when attached to that hulk, the two of them sent ashore almost as an afterthought, more to get them out of the way than anything else.

A few hours in a tavern, and more than a few drinks in their stomachs; every tankard makes Horatio more sleepy, quiescent, detached, but they seem to fuel a fire in Archie, one that gets brighter and brighter through the night until, when they get to their room, Archie seems to glow.

Archie shuts the door, locks it, pushes Horatio against the wall and kisses him fiercely. It doesn't feel good, precisely, but doesn't feel bad either, and this is Archie, who has taught him everything about the Navy and its ways.

Archie makes a strange, hungry noise, something like a growl and a moan together, and thrusts his hand down the front of Horatio's breeches. The first touch is a shock, but this _does_ feel good, unequivocally good, and through the haze of alcohol and the knowledge that this is Archie whom he trusts completely, Horatio parts his lips and gasps and asks for more.

Archie looks at him oddly, with a smile that's almost a sneer, and kisses him again, just as roughly. "Want more, do you?" he asks, tugging Horatio toward the bed and pushing him down flat on his stomach. "Well, you would, wouldn't you?"

The rest of it is blurry with drink and confusion and flashes of both pleasure and pain. What's clearer is the morning, when Archie is white-faced and glassy-eyed, offering him water to wash and coffee to drink and apologies, and telling him that he mustn't tell, not ever, it must be a secret between them. " _Swear_ it, Horatio," he says, blue eyes bright with terror. "Swear you won't tell."

And because this is Archie, his only friend, and he never wants to see his friend so afraid, Horatio does.

  
The second time is because Horatio needs it, needs proof that Archie is alive and warm and whole, proof that he can feel in his own flesh.

The sickroom bed is sturdy and heavy, not so much as creaking as they move together atop it, Horatio's weight pressing Archie down into the mattress, holding him still, keeping him where Horatio can feel his heart beat and the rush of his breath.

Archie is still pale, and feels as thin and frail as spun glass, and so Horatio moves slowly, reminding himself to be careful, to be as gentle as his need will allow. And to be quiet--oh so quiet--because this is a secret too. What passes between them must always be secret, clandestine, shameful and kept to the shadows.

Archie's lips part, reluctantly releasing a thin, anxious sound, one that Horatio cannot identify as protest or want and so cannot bear to hear. He silences Archie by kissing him, swallowing down the sound and Archie's taste and breath. He both savors and loathes the sensations, his body's responses and the feeling of Archie, letting him have this, letting him slake his need this way. He's desperately grateful and oddly angry at once, both at himself for his weakness and Archie for his acquiescence.

After, he returns to his chair at the bedside, and in the morning they converse of nothing of consequence, polite and proper as officers must be.

  
There are many more times in the years they serve together, balanced between each of their wants and needs. It remains an unspoken arrangement, contained by glances and touch instead of words, always keeping to its place in the shadows and silence, where such things are done.

  
The last time is because they both want and both need and both fear, their last night together before Renown reaches Samana Bay. They don't know it is the last, of course, but the urgency is the same as if they had been granted a glimpse of second sight. In the dark of the sleeping cabin, their hands are frantic and clumsy, their mouths hot, their words half-swallowed and incoherent.

Fast: it must be fast, Buckland could send for them at any time. And silent, more silent than ever. Horatio presses his hand over Archie's mouth, and Archie sinks his teeth into the flesh, challenge and anger in his eyes.

Archie has been angry since this voyage began, since before, and Horatio has been tired, gradually beaten still and numb by the press of his duty and the struggle to maintain pure and proper admiration for a captain who gives him only contempt in return.

He realizes, as he gives in to Archie's hands and braces his back against the wall, as he meets Archie's mouth with his own, as he reaches down and fumbles to open both of their breeches, that it is very much like the first time, ages and oceans ago. The same need, the same skin, the same nameless ache in both their hearts that never can quite be eased and that must be kept silent, silent, silent.

After, their eyes meet briefly, and Horatio sees the same awareness in Archie. They have returned to where they began, to fear and secrets and shadows, and it would be madness indeed to expect deliverance a second time.  



End file.
